


The Shadows Must Lie

by Mybrolly



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Johncroft, M/M, MyJohn, Sherlock's return, Things don't go Sherlock's way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mybrolly/pseuds/Mybrolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shadows began dancing on the blinds as Mycroft entered the flat, all the younger Holmes could make out was the figure of John still standing close to the window. John, his John.  Mycroft seemed to approach him, was he telling John? An audible gasp left Sherlock’s lips as he watched Mycroft not speak to John, not comfort him, but kiss him and passionately at that. No, it couldn’t be, surely the shadows had lied to him, why would his brother kiss John, why would John let him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shadows Must Lie

Three years, almost to the day, three years and now he was back and standing outside his old Baker Street flat hoping to find John still living there. Sherlock had no clue how he was going to announce his return or explain why he had been gone so long, all he knew was that he had to tell John first, John was the important one in it all, the person he held close to his heart for three years, as much of a heart as the self-proclaimed sociopath had. No one had known the truth except Molly and even she knew little other than the man was alive. Sherlock had of course banned her from telling anyone, not John, not Lestrade, not even whisper it to a corpse in case his dear brother had ears in her morgue. Three years, three damn years and finally Sherlock was home. 

A flicker of a shadow crossed the light from the window, someone lived there that much was clear, he just needed some sign it was John before he went breaking in. Suddenly a face appeared peeking through the blinds and looking out into the night. The former detective felt his heart stop as he gazed upon the dirty blonde hair and subtle smile that he had spent his death dreaming about, missing and longing to get back too. A strong sense of elation filled him as he finally, after three long years, saw John, his John. 

Sherlock took a deep breath, now was the time to return, to beg for forgiveness if he must. Only from John though, everyone else would assume he hadn’t changed, John would know better and he would beg on his knees to get the friendship back if that’s what it took. Gaining the courage, Sherlock went to cross the street from his hiding place but stopped in his tracks as a black sedan pulled up outside the flat. The door at the back opened slowly and a man stepped out, there was no doubt in Sherlock’s mind who it was, the figure was unmistakeable even in the dark night and the noise of the metal tip of the umbrella on the concrete seemed deafening in the nights silence. Mycroft. Had he known? Had he spotted Sherlock coming back into London? He had tried to disguise himself, hid as best he could but why else would Mycroft be here, clearly he had news. Sherlock retreated to his position, he couldn’t reveal himself while his elder sibling was there, he had to have his time with John, alone. 

Shadows began dancing on the blinds as Mycroft entered the flat, all the younger Holmes could make out was the figure of John still standing close to the window. John, his John. Mycroft seemed to approach him, was he telling John? An audible gasp left Sherlock’s lips as he watched Mycroft not speak to John, not comfort him, but kiss him and passionately at that. No, it couldn’t be, surely the shadows had lied to him, why would his brother kiss John, why would John let him? 

The more he watched the more his fears were clarified, the bodies seemed to mingle together, a suit jacket was removed from the taller man, clearly Mycroft, and then the shadows disappeared. This wasn’t right, Mycroft, that horrid man, he was taking advantage of the news, he was doing this to spite Sherlock and John, well, he must have been forcing him, threatening him, something. Sherlock couldn’t stand the thoughts in his overactive mind and charged across the road, bursting into the house and up the stairs to the flat, avoiding the creaking ninth step to maintain some aspect of surprise. Picking the lock wasn’t hard, the amount of times he had done it to this door before simply made it second nature, he took another deep breath and his nostrils filled with his brother’s sickening cologne. “Leave him be, Mycroft.” Sherlock hissed as he stepped into the living room and faced the men who were almost topless and entwined on the sofa. 

It seemed like a nightmare to John as he looked up and caught sight of the ghost of his best friend, the man he had watched die and buried, the man he had secretly loved and had to mourn. His eyes moved between the brothers, his former love and the man he had found love with through combined grief. John stayed silent, unable to believe his own eyes, Mycroft on the other hand climbed off the couch, walked calmly to his younger sibling and punched him square in the jaw, “Do you know the hell you put him through? How dare you, brother. “ Mycroft’s first though was John, his love, his partner, the pain his brother’s death had caused the medic, his own pain taking a back seat in comparison.  
“Mycroft!” John shot up from the sofa and pulled the elder Holmes back, “Don’t. “ he warned then his voice turned softer, “You’ll hurt yourself, love.” John wrapped his arm protectively around Mycroft’s waist. His heart was torn in two, Sherlock and Mycroft, the two men that owned his heart and here they were, together, Sherlock alive as unbelievable as it was. Images flooded his head of watching the man fall, of the blood that pooled around his head and the complete lack of pulse. How the hell was he standing here, alive? The former soldier opened his mouth to speak to the dead man, words failed him completely, what do you say to the man you loved, the man who broke your heart? And how do you say it when his brother, the man you now love is standing at your side? Finally he could be with Sherlock, kiss him, hold him, never let him go again, never let another soul hurt him…but he’d have to give up Mycroft, the man who was there for him, comforted him, made him smile again when he never thought he would, made him love again when he was convinced his heart had died. 

John closed his eyes for a moment and went to sit in his chair, away from both the Holmes men, the confusion of it all. He attempted to speak again, almost choking on the words as he softly addressed Sherlock, “I think you’ve some explaining to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> The first thing I've written so I hope it's not too bad.


End file.
